


Love Potion No. 9

by HelpIveMcFallen (PunsandPoses)



Series: Various Music [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cop Clint Barton, Cop Natasha Romanov, Cop Peter Parker, Fluff, I DO NOT RECOMMEND MAKING OUT WITH ALOE, I cannot stress this enough, Kisses, M/M, Mild Objectophilia, love potions, slight crack, slight language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsandPoses/pseuds/HelpIveMcFallen
Summary: When some weird potion takes over Deadpool for half an hour, he finds himself in a weird predicament with a cop named Peter Parker.





	Love Potion No. 9

**Author's Note:**

> I was tired and this wanted to be written. Comments/kudos appreciated. Apologies for bending canon.

_I didn't know if it was day or night_

_I started kissing everything in sight_

_But when I kissed a cop down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine_

_He broke my little bottle of Love Potion Number Nine._

\---

It’s not often a second-rate villain gets the drop on Deadpool. He’s accustomed to shooting or stabbing or doing _something_ before they get to him.

So when he feels a needle pierce through to his neck, he’s understandably just a little shocked.

 _{What the hell?}_ Yellow asks, perplexed. White is silent, which is unusual. Deadpool reacts and shoots the villain in the kneecap, dropping them and erasing the momentary smirk.

“Remind me to test whatever bullshit they injected me with,” he mutters to himself, rubbing over the injection spot with his fingers.

 _[If you insist.]_ White says. Deadpool ties up the villain with some rope he pulls out of his pouch ( _{Like a fucking magician, this one,}_ Yellow interjects) and calls the police before striding away, intent on chilling the hell out for a few more hours.

Such chilling does not, unfortunately, happen.

-.~.-.~

Peter is not the type to be startled often. But seeing a red-clad man with katanas strapped to his back and about a thousand other weapons on his body trying to make out with everyone and every _thing_ is pretty startling.

“Uh, sir-” he tries to get the man’s attention. The attempt fails, mostly because the costumed dude is passionately making out with a potted plant he stole from a window. The aloe does not seem to be reciprocating, but it is a plant.

A _plant_. Evidently this very heavily armed man has some sort of weird thing for aloe of all things. Knowing the things people have fetishes for, Peter puts it past no one to have a secret kink for succulents.

What would the name for that be? Treefuckers? He’s gonna go out on a limb and say probably.

Peter snickers and rouses himself from his thoughts to look at the man who has moved on from his aloe plant. To Peter.

The man’s wearing a mask, rolled up to his nose, which is expressive, especially in the eyes. Which are laser-focused on him.

“Sir, are you-” Peter begins, and there’s a pair of lips on his.

_Oh sweet Jesus what the hell is happening-_

The dude tastes like Mexican food and metal, which is weird, and he’s surprisingly a good kisser, and Peter is in a state of shock. There’s a hand on his cheek and one curling around his hip and his head is being tipped back.

It’s entirely on instinct that Peter reaches up and punches the dude away from him.

“Jesus, shit, _fuck-_ ” the man curses, holding his jaw. “Where am I?”

“ _What the hell was that?_ ” Peter demands angrily, cheeks heating and he’s definitely blushing. The man raises both hands.

“I don’t know, I’m as confused as you are,” is the reply as the man checks his surroundings. Peter’s annoyingly aware of his movements and also the sheer amount of eyes on the two of them. The man mutters to himself like Peter can’t hear. “Yeah, he’s cute, but I think we traumatized him for life.”

Peter studies the other, noticing his features really for the first time. There are scars twining across his skin, and his lips are full and just as expressive as his eyes. Then the mask rolls back down and the man seems to hit a switch.

“Well, it was nice to meet you-” he pauses as he takes in Peter’s tag “-Mr. Parker, but I’ve gotta scram.”

He takes Peter’s hand and kisses it briefly before sprinting the hell away. Peter doesn’t blame him, he’s still burning up with embarrassment himself.

“As you were,” he shouts to the crowd that’s gathered before he makes an exit himself.

In his car, the radio crackles and he can hear Clint, wheezing from laughing too hard.

_“Parker, you made out with Deadpool?”_

Peter slams his head back into the head rest before he decides to head back to the station to try to explain everything.

-.~.-.~

“Oh my god, Peter, you have _got_ to see this,” Clint accosts him as soon as he walks through the doors. His phone has a video on it, and Peter recognizes himself and the man- Deadpool, apparently.

“You saved that, didn’t you?” Peter knows Clint well. The man would have saved it to three separate locations and posted it to Facebook.

“Yes,” Clint rolls his eyes. “Natasha’s got seven copies.”

Peter thinks that it’s time he found a new career. “Why?”

“Blackmail material,” Natasha interjects. She’s typing away furiously on her phone, probably to Bucky or Steve. She sucks like that. “You kissed a known anti-hero, Peter. I’m going to make sure you are thoroughly embarrassed for a while.”

“I wasn’t intending to!” Peter protests. That does nothing to stop Natasha, who shows Peter her phone screen, which has about a thousand texts from Tony.

“Check your phone, Peter.”

Sure enough, a thousand texts from Tony.

**_From: Tony_ **

_You made out with Deadpool????_

_PETER YOU PROMISED YOU’D TELL ME ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIPS!!!!_

_Peter!!!_

_Answer me, goddammit_

_Parker you have 3 minutes_

The rest were somewhat nonsensical. One described a method of murder using a silk scarf and 30 Skittles, while another demanded to know why Peter wasn’t answering and asked if he was ‘gettin sum’.

**_To: Tony_ **

_Tony, we’ve talked about this._

_No thousand texts unless absolutely necessary_

_No, I’m not “gettin sum”_

_My cheap little LG can’t take it_

Peter puts his phone away and prepares himself for the inevitable humiliation. Sure enough, Clint strolls over, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“So you getting DP from DP?” he asks.

Peter punches him in the nose for that.

-.~.-.~

He catches Deadpool outside of the small taco truck he occasionally goes to when he feels the need to eat something spicy and unhealthy. While he might be in his civvies, he's still able to call in if necessary. Or get called. Peter's still unsure about pagers, and at this point he's way too afraid to ask. He's 25, and the station still works like it's from the 90s. Clint is definitely a terrible friend.

He's devouring a taco covered in guac and cheese when he hears a loud voice behind him. Sitting on benches is the worst place to get ambushed.

“What brings you here, Parker?”

Peter spins and curses the universe when he spies Deadpool behind him. Armed to the teeth as usual, the mercenary-slash-antihero leaps over the bench and plops down with surprising grace.

Peter swallows the giant bite he just took and answers. “Tacos.”

“Maria's are some of the best,” Deadpool informs him, gesturing to the taco truck nearby. The small form of Maria, the owner, putters around, deceivingly docile and mild-looking. Peter has seen her when angry, and rest assured that he was quaking in his metaphorical boots.

“Yeah, they are,” he replies, taking another big bite of the taco. To his dismay, a giant drop of guac falls onto his last clean(ish) pair of jeans.

“Did you just take a bite out of the _top_?” Deadpool asks, sounding scandalized.

“So?” Peter asks, wiping up the guacamole with a spare napkin and grimacing at both the wet spot and the waste of food.

“Well, for starters, you take a bite out of the side,” Deadpool begins, scowling. “Do you eat a cupcake from the top too?”

“Yep,” Peter admits freely. He's got a small part of Clint in him, and that means getting scandalized gasps and exclamations are funny to him. Strange how people imprint on you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you-” Deadpool starts a long rant on how you eat cupcakes and tacos from the side and how _you don't eat a taco from the top, do you do that with burritos and enchiladas too? Jesus, it's like watching a bird try and chew, that is_ not _correct-_

Peter tunes him out and finishes the delicious taco with only mild regret. Deadpool ends the rant with a hearty amount of swears and statements about _stupid cute twinks that have no idea how to properly eat._

“So, do you wanna, like, have some churros?” Peter interrupts what is probably the beginning of a new tirade. Deadpool stares at him.

“What?”

“Do you want some churros?” Peter repeats patiently, holding up a paper bag of cinnamon sweet goodness. The stare of his companion is starting to unnerve him.

“You wanna share some churros-” Deadpool points at himself “-with me?”

“Yep,” Peter replies, popping the _p_. “Unless you doubt the power of Maria's cooking?”

The last part is said loud enough for Maria to hear, and she storms out of the taco truck with a wooden spoon in hand.

“What did you say, _chico_?” she demands, staring at Deadpool. The term of familiarity does nothing to provide reassurance, not with that fire in her eyes.

“Nothing,” he answers meekly, taking the bag from Peter quickly. “Your food is delicious.”

“As I thought,” she says. “Good to see you, Peter.”

Peter waves at her and she walks back to the truck. Deadpool glares without any heat.

“Not cool.”

“What can I say,” Peter grins, “except _do you want some churros?_ ”

Deadpool scowls, reluctantly rolls up the mask, and eats a churro, muttering something through the food. Peter can see the scars, which are numerous and cover his face. There's a very angry one by the corner of his mouth, and Peter wants to touch it for no particular reason other than science.

“Do you wanna get a coffee with me sometime?” he asks out of the blue because he has no verbal filter and that is the way Peter rolls.

But he _is_ owed one, after all. Dude gets a kiss and he only gets embarrassment? Not a fair trade at all. Coffee is an excellent plan. High-five, tired brain and unfiltered mouth.

“Sure,” Deadpool replies, and Peter waits for whatever he has to say. Because he knows the man well enough by now to know that Deadpool rarely, if ever, just leaves it at that. He braces himself for a weird reference or dick joke. “But only if we get tacos after.”

Surprisingly simple. Peter can work with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 11/30/18: So. Many. Errors. That's what I get for writing fanfic on my phone, I guess. Fixed 'em, should be better. I really need to get a beta.


End file.
